


Surviving Winter

by the_historian93



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_historian93/pseuds/the_historian93
Summary: Sansa's past will never leave her. Nor will the men who have watched her grow. This life is her atonement.





	1. While the Castle Sleeps

The lady’s chambers had its own plumbing system. Sansa could draw her own bath, and she would every night. She had a routine now. She was ashamed to admit she also needed the heat, hot springs ran all through Winterfell, keeping the castle habitable through winter. They ran hottest in the lady’s chamber and were so assigned to keep the Southern ladies who ventured from their sun blessed kingdoms to marry Northern lords. Sansa did not want to think of herself as one of them, this was her home.

She had switched chambers three times since she returned. She would never return to the Lord’s chamber despite the status she would have once cared for. It was not hers anyway, she was a Lady of Winterfell, a rung below her brother, The King of the North. She supposed it was now the royal chamber not that Jon would humour that. After the Battle she returned to her old room, hoping the happy memories would drown out the bad. She quickly remembered she was never happy here she had always wanted to a lady far from the North. What she hadn’t remembered was the cold. She had never felt the cold before she rode south. Nor had she felt it in her deceased parents quarters, there were perhaps other things to worry about. Or perhaps the servants worked hard to keep the bastard warm, ensuring the fire always roared. Perhaps they thought a lady born in Winterfell would not need a fire. Or perhaps they thought little of menial tasks, there were many other things to think about now winter was here.

Sansa drew herself a bath each night, she could not sleep otherwise. She had sent away her handmaiden, a promotion for the kitchen girl. She had gasped when she undressed Sansa for the first time and was quickly sent back. “There are more important things that need doing,” she told the girl, “I will care for myself now”. In the dark she could not see the extent of the scar and bruises which still darkened the skin of her arms, back and legs. She could not sleep unless she was clean. But she never felt clean and she never really slept. She felt herself brave to explore how she healed between her legs. It remained tender and swollen and she dare not venture too far. Cersei had told her the damage a child could inflict and she often wondered whether this was worse. She supposed she would never know. The maester attending to a bone cracked in her side had whispered, “A child will never be born of a forced…. relation. A women closes herself” he assured. She knew that ‘maesters knew little of women’s bodies’. It was her mother that had told her that. Or was it Cersei. It had once troubled her that she often could not remember who bestowed these lessons, her mother or her ex-captor. She was used to it now.

After her bath she would retire to bed, best to get snatches of sleep in where possible. Every night she would wake up at the same time, the time when he would come. Smelling of dogs usually but sometimes blood. She wakes up her mind tricking her into thinking she could smell him or hear the door creak or feel a rush of air from the corridor. Since she and Jon reunited she would find Ghost keeping a close eye on her. He slept in her company rather than Jon’s. She assumed it was Jon’s underhand way of protecting her until he asked her one morning whether she had seen his direwolf lately. The giant white wolf made her feel safe but he could not help her sleep.

The comfort of the drink a lesson she had learnt from Cersei, and her ex-husband. Wine she found gave her a few hours or peace and a few more of sleep. She could write scrolls and study the notes of past maesters for any evidence of Winterfell’s protections against the threat to the north. Sansa could not yet say White Walkers or Army of the Dead aloud. It made her feel like a little crazy girl, the same one who thought she’d marry a prince and become a princess. Drinking wine helped her search for these fairy tales a little more seriously. Eventually she would black out and find herself in bed in the very early morning. This was her favourite time, as the sun crept up the vast lands around the castle glowed a light blue. And it was quiet and for a moment she didn’t have to think, her mind could stop as she and Ghost walked along the high walls of Winterfell.

The lady of WInterfell spent her daylight hours dodging Petyr Baelish. She had it down to a fine art and only had to deal with him twice a week, any less and he would perhaps forsake her. Something of which she cared little but the North could not yet afford. She had to play a slow game, Littlefinger would fare better than she in chaos. She changed her routine everyday starting in the kitchens early to make sure their small serving team had everything they needed, sometimes she would practice archery or reply to ravens, send her own, curl up in the maesters library reading old manuscripts and ravens it was also a good place to sleep. In the empty Septa’s quarters where she could not be disturbed. Here she would make new clothes, mend anything the serving girls had been given, for they had very little time and teach any young girls in the castle basic sewing. She made sure everyone knew how to line their clothes with fur with the most basic and rough stitches. The cold grew more and more urgent.

Anyone paying attention to her movements would think she was a spiritual lady. She spent a great deal of time at the heart tree, her she thought most sharply moving the pieces around the map in her mind. Without fail once a day she would visit the crypts speaking with her lost relatives as though they were still there. Although she could no longer summon what they would say, their deaths and her forgetting weighed heavily on her. This horrible cold place was her atonement, the more she knew about the politics of the realm the more she knew she had played a part in every one of their deaths.

Dodging the Warden of the Eyrie inevitably meant dodging the King of the North. He had far less patience to track her movements. It did not surprise her that when summoned to the great holdfast Sansa was receiving information for the first time. There council rarely met and Jon was insistent on delivering any important news immediately to the Lords of the North. She thus forced to council him before men who saw her as a ruined women used and abused by foreign lords.


	2. A Stir in the Lady's Chamber

Jon didn’t have wolf dreams anymore. That part of him had died. Or so he thought. A smash, a thud and a grunt, bounding over to the sleeping quarters. Sansa in a pool of blood dead. Jon was half out of bed before he woke up, pushing the Lady Knight’s squire to hard out of the way. She picked up her head and she flinched. Alive. Where was this blood coming from. His first thought was the Bolton Bastard’s baby. Glass crunched under his knee. Wine. He picked her up moving her to her bed wine dripping from her nightgown and hair and blood dripping from her arms. “The Maester”, Jon yelled turning to find the squire gone. The maester ran in breathless and Jon stepped aside. The squire creeped in sheepishly a small cut on his head bleeding into his eye. “I’m sorry… ah”. “Podrick”. “Sorry, thank you Podrick, you are excused to fix ah that up”. “Thank you my grace but if it’s okay I’d like to make sure my lady is okay”. Jon nodded and found some cloth in the maester’s bag handing it over to the squire.

He sat down next the Ghost. The wolf began licking at Jon’s arm, who looked down to see his forearm covered in wine, glass and blood. The maester had stitched Sansa’s arms and the gash above her eye. He quickly attended to the squire and coughed. “The lady is fine… just…. full with wine. I need to… erm clean her up”. Podrick blushed and left the room. Jon didn’t know this maester, he seemed to be adequate enough but he could not trust a man (even a maester) who served the Boltons. He also knew that Sansa had not let this maester examine her, Ser Davos had asked Jon to talk to her but his sister had been hard to find. “No maester, I can… look after her”, although he was unsure of this himself. The maester coughed and left, leaving a bucket and cloth behind. She barely stirred as he removed her shift keeping her modesty and his shame hidden safely in her bed folds. He flinched as he saw the yellowing bruises on her marking otherwise porcelain skin.

Unsure what to do with her hair which sopped with wine and soaked into her pillows. He wrapped a towel around her head, giving the impression she was more seriously injured than she was. The wine continued to soak into her pillows. Jon was in the midst of wrapping a clean sheet the maester left around her head when the squire knocked. “Podrick?”, Jon’s need for assistance clear in his expression. “I used to wash my sisters’ hair, if you bring her to the daybed I’ll wash the wine out first. Perhaps, you could change the sheets”, said Podrick timidly, not wanting to seem to be giving the King of the North orders. He changed the sheets quickly, placing the wine and blood stained sheets into a pile on the floor. He watched almost hypnotised by Podrick’s careful attention to his sisters hair. The squire loved her. Or perhaps she reminded him of his sisters. No, Jon decided the squire like any young man, loved his sister. She was beautiful but her mother’s looks brought back painful memories. How many times had he wished that beautiful women was his mother. He could remember more strongly however, the hate those blue eyes her daughter had inherited could flash.


	3. The Squire's Tempest

Lady Sansa stirred, safe and clean back in her bed. Podrick turned and walked back to his place in the outer chamber. It was past his watch time and the young Stark guard who relieved him was already there. Jon followed him out. “Ah Podrick”, he gestured to him to follow him out onto the walls. Podrick shivered, not used to the cold yet. “Did you know”, he asked, “about the wine. There were another two bottle on the side table”. “No”, Podrick responded, “she doesn’t have a serving girl. She probably takes them from the kitchen herself, she goes there every morning before she…”. Podrick always said more than he should. This is her brother, he is a killer, he could certainly kill me. Jon nodded and walked back inside. Relieved, Pod returned to the chamber, Jon had left the lady’s door ajar and as he went to close it Pod heard a groan and a retch. He rushed into the room picking up the bucket he had used to wash her hair to the bed. Forgetting about the contents Pod stopped suddenly by her side slosing half of the contents on his breeches. The Lady looked at him first shocked, then amused and then prompted vomited bright red into the bucket.

“I’m sorry”, she croaked as Pod tried to assess his breeches undetected. “It’s fine my lady. I will empty the bucket and return it. And then if I may have your leave to change into something dryer. But, I will fetch you something to eat first.” “Leave the bucket, change… I will attend to myself”. “As you wish my lady”, Pod bowed as watered down wine pooled in his boots. He reached the door as Sansa heaved once more. He instinctively paused wishing to rush back and pull back the titian hair he had just washed. But that was not his place, it would never be. He had paused long enough to here the Lady to whisper “Jon?”. He turned and her eyes searched his horrified. He turned confused by the question expecting to see the King of the North. The Lady straightened away from the bucket, “Jon was here”, she said as she found the stitched in her arm and spotted the soaked sheets on ground. Pod rushed forward to pick up the sheets, “I’ll just…” he picked them up and her shift fell from the pile. He scrambled to pick it up and walked backwards towards the door blushing. Sansa gathered her bed clothes around her, “Thank you Sir Podrick” she said attempting to gain some regal humility.

Leaving the chamber exhaled deeply and readjusted the blood and wine soaked sheets to conceal the Lady’s shift. He walked quickly to the laundry’s blessing the empty castle to save him any questions. He was never the master of his words and his mind was so scrambled with thoughts of the night before. He had admired the Lady from afar. He knew she had suffered at the hands of a monster, he saw where she had broken she now grew stronger. He knew this before last knight. Everything had changed. He now knew she was not strong, he now knew the extent of her scars and the feeling of her hair. He now knew he loved her.

Podrick had no sisters, he was an only child. He blushed now thinking that he had lied to the man who was supposed to be his King. How easily he could catch him on this. How easily he could punish him for taking liberties with his sister, a lady. Podrick concentrated on the familiar work in the laundry. He had been raised with the servants of Ser Cedric, his childhood memories were scented by the soap of the laundry and the smell of fresh bread in the kitchen. It was the least he could do to save the Lady the rumours of the castle. 

Podrick dare not return to her chambers. He had gone to far already, he instructed the kitchen to send breakfast to the Lady’s chamber, to find the King had already done so. Podrick retired for a few hours before he was required for his service with the Lady Brienne. He appreciated being able to set his mind on the daily task of his life as Squire, keeping his mind far from the disturbances of the previous evening. He was setting up the sparring yard, when the King in the North approached him.

“Podrick, can I speak with you.” Podrick expected to be steered towards the Lord’s chamber. But he found himself shiver as they left the castle walls, “he has found me out Podrick thought”. He was ashamed to say he feared death, he had wished to live up to the bravery he admired in his masters, and in Lady Sansa. Jon began to speak, “Thank you. But I expect no one will come to know of it”. The King looked if he had more to say. “How is she?” Pod asked attempting to disguise his eagerness for the knowledge. “Ashamed”, Jon laughed “she has been through so much, wine….” He stopped himself Pod saw. ‘He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t trust me’. “I am glad to hear the Lady will recover My Grace”. “Aye, she will. I have instructed the kitchen to limit the wine. But I would appreciate it if you assumed the guard every night”. “The Lady Brienne has me there during the late hours, she does not trust the other guard in case…” Podrick had said to much again.

The King’s eyes flashed with anger. “In case what boy?” “In case the do the bidding of Lord Baelish. The Lady trusts him not. The King thought this through, taking longer than most men would. “Yes, I suppose no one should. Lady Sansa has said as much. Why would he send someone to harm her. Does your Brienne know of such a plot”. Podrick coughed, “It is more of a feeling she has. He loved Lady Catelyn and… She does not trust him”. The King stood silent again, his hand contemplating the sword absent-mindedly. ‘He is not versed in politics’, thought Podrick, ‘he would prefer to kill the man’. Suddenly the King turned on his hill and strode towards the castle. Podrick stood to attention and four paces away The King stopped and shouted “You’re dismissed” into the wind. Podrick waited until The King had entered the castle walls before jogging back to the yard to find a fire to warm himself.


	4. Prison of Memories

Her head thumped and her arm throbbed, more than anything she wished to walk the castle walls. She did not like being confined to her room, it reminded her of her old life. Never locked away but in fear of what she would find outside the safety, albeit limited safety, of her room. The warmth of the room now smothered her. She had taken back this castle on her own terms so she was free. Jon had told her to stay here, to rest he had not meant it in anger, she saw the fear in his eyes.

She had worked hard to keep Jon from the truth of her trauma. He knew too much now and she worried he would no longer see her as a competent advisor, he would only see the bruises. When he had brought her food, she watched his eyes flicker to her arms to find them covered by a fresh shift and flinch. It was the same way the serving lady looked at her, how Theon would look at her when he was Theon. In fact she knew the look of pity well, since her father was beheaded she had seen little else, it was only since she was free that it hurt her.

The sun settled beyond the horizon of her window. She had not spoken to anyone since Jon left her hours ago. “I was so worried”, he muttered. There was so much he didn’t want to say to her. “I tripped, it was stupid I’m sorry to have worried you”. “Your arm?” he asked. “Will heal” she replied curtly. He stood up frustrated, “I know it will heal! You can’t.. You could’ve…” “I can’t sleep” she interrupted his anger. His eyes softened and he walked to the window and opened it. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes. “I…” she started. “You never said” he said sadly. “My sleeping patterns are of little interest to the King of the North,” she said softly. “But they are important to your brother”. “I am sorry Jon”. “Nothing to be sorry for”, he replied. He looked at her as she shivered, closed the window and left.

Knowing the inhabitants of the castle retired after dark. Sansa covered a simple woollen dress with her warmest fur and wrapped herself in a cloak. She strode out of her chambers towards the stairs leading to the castle walls. “My Lady?” “Sir Podrick. You… I wish to walk the castle walls, I have trapped up all day”, she said worried Jon had assigned a guard to keep her cooped up. “May I accompany you?” the squire asked. “I do not need a guard, Ser Podrick, I am not a danger to myself”. Podrick blushed, “No My Lady, I know, but with all do respect you are injured. I would not be serving you if I let you walk the castle without a chaperone”. Sansa had little energy to argue and felt she could not be inside a moment longer. She nodded and walked on, she heard the squire rush to keep up.

Sansa felt much better once she was outside. Her mind was bored and this squire knew more of her than any squire should. “Did you like serving Lord Tyrion Ser Podrick”, she asked. The squire stuttered, he had not expected her to speak to him. He moved closer to her, “Call me Pod, please My Lady. Yes, My Lady he is a good man”, he answered. “Yes he was always kind to me. How did you come to enter Lady Brienne’s service?”, “After The King, after Joffrey died and he was imprisoned he sent me away. He probably saved my life”. “Yes, I think you meant a great deal to him, you were always loyal”. “My Lady I no longer serve the Lannisters, I serve House Stark…” She waved her hand, “This is not a test Podrick. I here Lord Tyrion now serves the Dragon Queen anyway”. The night air had eased her and she though of nothing sweeter than filling a bath with the thermal water of Winterfell. She entered her outer chambers to see Jon pacing the room.


	5. The Dragon Queen Lands

“Where have you been”, he demanded. A figure entered behind her, Lord Baeilish. He would kill him. He rushed past Sansa. “My Grace”, the squire, Jon softened. “Podrick insisted on accompanying me. I was in need of air. I’m certain you mean to thank him for ensuring I maintained my footing”. “Aye, thank you”, he could trust the squire, but Jon could not trust his own judgement. The squire took up his place far by the door. Jon waited for Sansa to enter the room. She looked at the squire, then to Jon and flushed when she realised he had seen her. A pang of jealously flushed through Jon as she regained composure and thanked the squire for his service. Jon turned and nodded at the smiling boy. Who read his contempt and ceased smiling.

“Jon, you do not have to guard me”. “I’m not guarding I just thought you might want company”. “I don’t have ale”. They both paused, “Jon, it’s the only, I can’t”. Her voice trembled. “I don’t mean to stop you, merely keep you on your feet, I’m not father I do not command you and if you think it best”. “I’ll send Pod to fetch ale”. In the warm room Sansa and Jon talked through the business of the castle. He realised there was much that she did when the castle slept. He was careful not to drink too much but found in the warm room his head grew hazy.

Jon drew a curtain between the daybed where he would sleep and Sansa’s bed. Ghost sat silently by the empty fireplace as Jon drifted to sleep. He woke up as Ghost nudged his hand. Foggy he looked around, a candle glowed by the desk. He watched Sansa wrapped in furs hunched over scrolls a full goblet beside her. He fell back to sleep and was woken again by a scream. He jumped up and rushed to the bed, the scream had been muffled and turned to sobs. He placed a hand on her back and she flinched away from it immediately and curled more tightly into herself. “Sansa” she offered and she relaxed but she did not face him. He lay down beside her over the bed sheets. He stroked her hair, red hair, which merged into a dream of the red hair he moved away from the face of the wilding he had loved.  
*******************************

Sansa woke to the light of the morning. She had not slept till morning for a long time. She felt the warmth of a body beside her, Jon, she remembered. She left him sleeping and began her morning inspection. In the yard of Winterfell she meet Littlefinger. “Good morning My Lady”. “Good morning Lord Baelish. He continued, “The word of the realm is the Dragon Queen returns” he studied her face for indication of emotion. She gave none, “The North knows no Queen, only the King in the North. The Northern Lords will not recognise her claim, the last Targaryen murdered their liege lord, my grandfather and uncle”. “I believe you are right, but this Queen and her dragons will no doubt demand your King bend the knee”, he mused. “This Queen won’t turn North until she takes Kings Landing and Cersei will not let that happen”. “True, although she is advised by Lord Tyrion, Varys and backed by House Martell and House Tyrell”. “Then she is conquering South to North, The King will heed the mistrust of the Northern Lords. The North will no longer recognise a Southern ruler, let alone a foreign one”.

No ravens had reached Winterfell with news of the Dragon Queen’s arrival. It was not unlike Littlefinger to test her with imaginary scenarios. ‘House Martell and House Tyrell’, Lady Olenna now ruled Highgarden. She would not side with the Dragon Queen unless she offered revenge for the deaths of her family. She was not sure who ruled House Martell there were rumours that Prince Doran and his entire house had been murdered by Oberyn’s widow and bastard daughters. Elia would also want Cersei’s head. Yes, they will take Kings Landing first. She knew little of this Dragon Queen though, she would get Maester Wolken to collect any information about her that Winterfell had she must be ready when she turns her eyes North.

She did not like Maester Wolkin, the idea that he had possibly brought Ramsey into the world made her stomach curl. “My Lady”. “Maester, I would like you to gather any information sent to Winterfell about Daenerys Targaryen”. “Yes, My Lady. How are you healing?”. “Fine, will you bring them to my chambers with another cask of wine”. “Yes, My Lady”. She knew Jon would not think of the Maester’s cellar, Lord Tyrion had told her the Maester’s kept better wine than the kitchens though they preferred not to advertise their hordes.

Littlefinger caught her for the second time. “My Lady, I am glad I found you. I am leaving Winterfell to counsel Lord Arryan on the new developments. I will return soon”. “Send the little Lord my kind regards, ride safely”, she replied ambivalently. Before she could move away he grabbed her face and kissed her forehead lingering as he always did. They parted wordlessly, Sansa relieved she could spend a week or two not actively avoiding anyone and use her energy to counsel Jon.

Podrick was preparing the sparring lesson for the young inhabitants of Winterfell. Jon had declared everyone should be prepared to fight now Winter had come. “He’s leaving?” he asked. “Yes, there is word the Dragon Queen is in Westeros”. “He’s moving the pieces around”, Podrick remarked. Sansa was shocked, of course it was true but she didn’t know the squire was aware of Littlefinger’s moves. His eyes flashed with regret. “Yes, I suppose he is” she said to assure him he was not in danger. There was a new familiarity between them since their walk. He liked her Sansa could see it now. There was a time when this mattered, that she had caught the attention of young squires, knights or princes. She was a different person now, she would no longer have the life she once dreamed of. Now she understood that life never existed anyway.

She returned to her room and ran her bath. The Maester had brought the scrolls and the wine she asked for. She poured herself a glass and disrobed in front of the mirror. She normally enjoyed watching her bruises and scars fade, it was triumphant. But today, perhaps of the encounter with Podrick, she saw something ugly, used and discarded. She finished a bottle in the bath. Setting to work on the Dragon Queen. Daenerys Stormborn had spent her life it seemed moving around. Maester Luwin received information from the Maesters of Oldtown each month with births, deaths and marriages of the major houses. Any Targeryean news where her and her brother were last, was scribed with these notes. She had married a Khal and it appeared she was pregnant, there was more information when her father was in Kings Landing. He wrote to her mother and Maester Luwin it seemed. Once Rob had declared war there was very little news that reached Winterfell nothing of her conquest of Slavers Bay. Nothing of how Lord Tyrion or Varys entered her service.

She fell asleep on top of the bedsheets. A creak and blood fills her nostrils a hand around her arm, ‘get off” she tries so scream. She can’t, she can’t move, she can’t breathe, weight presses down on her. “No!” she yells and it becomes a sob. Then a cold creeps in, the smell of blood is still there, with the addition of smoke and a terrible smell she can't place. “Sansa, it’s a dream, he’s dead, Winterfell is safe”. Jon. She is wide awake. She sits up and tears fall silently down her face. Jon is back he has lit the candles in the room. She begins to shake and curls her legs into her. Jon brings the furs from the bed wrapping them around her shoulders. She still can’t move, he disappears, returning with more furs and warmed wine. ‘It was a dream. He’s dead. WInterfell is safe.’.


	6. Trapped in the Drift

Podrick heard the scream and the cries. This was new, he'd never heard her cry out in her dream. He began to pace to stop him from running in. The King was there, it would not be proper. Jon had greeted him long after the Lady had retired. He would not meet the Squire's eye. "I just, I don't want her... I know you are". "Yes your grace". Podrick did not want to hear the rest. The castle spoke of a union, The King was, of course, a bastard, a marriage between the the two would strengthen the claim. She would be safe as Queen. 

Jon rushed past him, back towards his chambers returning with an armful of furs. "Your gra..." he said as the door slammed in his face. He heard nothing else and was dismissed in the early morning. Instead of returning to his room to sleep he sat on the Winterfell walls long enough to see the sun rise. "It's beautiful isn't it?". Podrick turned to acknowledge Lady Stark wrapped in her furs. He couldn't speak to her. It didn't matter she went on "I always come here at this time. I have ever since I returned. I was never locked up you see, I just couldn't stand leaving the room. When they all knew. They all knew what he was like. What he was doing to me. I couldn't stand their looks, their pity. But at this time everyone sleeps, the castle is so quiet. Sometimes you can hear the cracks of the wall". They stood very still and listened. Podrick shivered and the Lady climbed on the wall beside him. As she lifted her leg she tripped on her skirt Podrick grabbed her hand to help her onto the wall. "I've jumped from the walls before. The snow drift collects so high that it cushions you fall". Their hands remained entwined and they sat like this until the sun rose and began to warm their faces. 

A raven flew over the castle to the maesters tower. " I must..." she said sadly. Climbing back down she released his hand and returned inside. For the first time since he began guarding the Lady's chamber, Podrick broke his fast with the rest of the castle. Sansa and Jon sat at the high table speaking seriously. Podrick noticed a new worry on her face, that was not their this morning. "Podrick", Lady Brienne hissed, "you're staring Go back to bed you obviously need more sleep". "Thank you my Lady, I can't sleep perhaps if we move my training early it will wear me out and I can sleep afterwards". "Lady Brienne!", Sansa called the Lady Knight to the high table, she joined in the discussion. Some important news had reached the castle, some new war Podrick thought. Would he be sent away from the castle to fight. He wouldn't survive, he knew he had already dodged to much death and he was hardly a good enough swordsman to rest on more than luck.

Without realising the rest of the hearth had emptied. The High Table had dissolved bar Sansa, their eyes met and she smiled sadly. They were interrupted my Sir Davos. "My Lady, there is still much to discuss, if you don't mind", anger flashed her eyes and she stormed from the table. "My boy, I'm not sure your Lady will be able to train. Do whatever young boys do with their free time". Podrick finally returned to his room and climbed into bed. He dreamt he was a King, but he was locked in room. Finally he found out he could climb out the window. He fell from the tower into the snow drift below. He found himself trapped in snow drift so deep he couldn't find a way out. He felt a hand enter his and he woke up. 

It was dark and he rushed to Lady's chamber. The castle was empty so Podrick run to the hearth. The King was in the middle of the room and the Stark bannermen had all been summoned. 'How long was I asleep for'. Lady Sansa sat at the high table, her face devoid of any emotion. "She has three dragons", he heard Jon say. "Have you eaten Pod?" Lady Brienne materialised. "Why are you so sweaty? Go down to the kitchen have something to eat. What is wrong with you today". Pod looked once more back a Sansa, she caught his eye her face remaining still and he left the hearth to find himself something to eat.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa now held Winterfell. Jon left for Dragonstone to treat with the Dragon Queen. The stupid Northerners put their faith in a hero. The stupid hero put his faith in a women who But she could counsel Winterfell, she would rule well in his name. "Come with me" he asked before he left. "The imp, is her Hand he will protect you. Perhaps, you could even..." "I will not marry again Jon" she snapped. "I'm not trying to marry you off. I'm trying to protect you". "I told you once, that no one can protect me Jon. Not really. I will never leave Winterfell, not again." "Sansa, if the wall falls, the army of the dead". "I won't leave me home. I won't leave my people." she replied. "You already sound like The Lady of Winterfell, you will lead them well". "Come back". Jon looked at her sadly, Jon put his hand on the back of her head and softly pushed her head towards his lips.

Sansa's dreams became more vivid. They started as the nightmare she had had since the Battle, and grew into something new. The creak of her chamber became the screech of a dragon. Although she had never heard one before. The blood mingled with smoke and the new smell she couldn't identify the smell of burning flesh. Purple eyes, flashed into an unsettling blue. And the weight on her chest grew heavier and heavier until she cried out. Her cries would bring Podrick to her and he would summon her from her dream. She would wake icy cold and although all the spare furs from the castle were piled on her bed her body was as cold as if she had fallen asleep in the snow. Half asleep Podrick would lead her to the bath to warm her back up. "Your lips were blue My Lady". He said quietly, fearful she would punish him for getting her into the bath. It took her a while to return to the real world. Unsure of what to do with her, hardly responsive, Podrick would wash her hair. He wasn't sure if she knew what he was doing, he sang a Southern song. He had a sweet voice.

Once her lips returned to their normal colour Podrick helped her out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel. He went to leave and she grabbed his face to kiss him. Almost absentmindedly. "Stay" she said. "Yes, My Lady". She drew the curtain and removed her wet shift to get into a dry one. In the mirror, she saw it had gone opaque in the water. She admired the shape of her body as the material hid her yellowing bruises. Once she was dry she wrapped herself in a fur and joined Podrick in front of the fire. She asked him to sing and he obliged shyly while she dried her hair on the heat of the fire. 

She settled on his shoulder and the gently fall asleep staring into the dying fire. She awoke alone, too warm and found herself covered in furs with the fire fully alive. She quickly dressed and left her room Podrick was gone. She walked quickly to the castle walls and found him staring out over the walls. Out of breath she approached him. He met her placing his large hands on her shoulders, searching her face before holding it in his hands and kissing her deeply. Sansa responded melting into him as his arms enveloped her. They continued to kiss, finding it hard to separate. Neither of them wanting to stop. Sansa had never been in control she had never enjoyed the advances of a man, she had never been kissed like this. When they parted, she felt unsure of what to do. "Thank you", she said.


	8. Ice and Fire

Jon had to leave. The castle would be fine in the hands of his sister. His sister, it was something so strange in the beginning. As a child Sansa was never his sibling like the rest of the Stark children were. He had always thought of her as Lady Catelyn's daughter. But he saw her ride into Castle Black and something connected, they had both known pain and suffering. He didn't know that then. They were both looking to start again, not a new life but to return to an old one. They wanted to return home. She was distant, there was still a lot she hid from him. He didn't know the extent of the trauma, at first just the looks the staff a Winterfell gave her and then the scars and bruises he had glimpsed and even then he did not know how deep they ran.

Would she be okay. She had Lady Brienne and Podrick, but he could not trust Littlefinger or the Nothern Lords. He thought back to the crypt. His hands around Baelish's neck, "Touch my sister and I'll kill you myself". Jon had told himself it was the way he slinked around the Castle like it was his. The very fact he was in the crypt, not even the Bolton's had dared. In the North there were ghost stories of Winterfell crypts perhaps the bastard had heard but Little finger knew little of the mythology of the wall and cared little for the threat it faced. It was clear to Jon know why he stayed, why he brought the Knights of the Vale. Lady Catelyn's daughter. 

Riding away from Winterfell, Jon thought perhaps it was more than Littlefingers taunts. 

The maiden fair, the winter rose.  
Kissed by fire the bard smitten knows.   
Heart of ice, the prince who fell,  
though warm to touch and sweet to smell.  
The warrior known strong and wild,  
could not melt the maiden he thought but mild.  
He stole her and her skirts he tore,  
to conquer and claim the frozen shore.  
Her eyes of frost, men would never know  
behind which true cold did flow.  
A winter rose of beauty true,  
with thorns sharp behind this beauty grew.

Sam had found this poem scratched into Jon's bunk. With no women in sight the winter rose was something Jon had thought about often. It was why he had hesitated when he drew back the hood of the wildling women. Kissed by fire, like destiny though she'd never believe. He had recited it to her, in the cave. "You really are a southern boy," she laughed. "Free folk songs are only about fucking and killing or both at once". He had thought it fitted her then, though she was no maiden fair and she never wore skirts. It was silly to think a poem scratched by some long dead Brother probably a murderer or a rapist some kind of destiny. But it made him question, why was he riding away towards some foreign Targaryen queen when he had almost died to save his home. Their home.

He didn't know what to expect. The last Targaryen was the Mad King. His eldest son had kidnapped, raped and murdered his Aunt. The Mad King had murdered his uncle and grandfather."Purple eyes and white hair like old man Karstark?", Robb had spat in gest. He remembered laughing at Theon for saying he'd like to mount a Targaryean. Would this Queen, have purple eyes and white hair, would she be a crazy tyrant?. But dragonfire and dragon glass gave them a chance against the dead. Not a good chance, just a better one. Winterfell would be the first stronghold to fall if the White Walkers breached to wall. The Battle was not won until Winterfell was truly safe. "No one can protect me", her words haunted him. 

She shivered, her blue eyes staring into the fire. "I dream he's here every night". "Bolton?" Jon asked. She nodded. "He can't hurt you anymore". "No", she sighed Jon knew he had said this to her so many times it meant nothing. This was the first time she had told him anything of her nightmares and he didn't know what to say. "When do you leave?" "What". "I know you are going to Dragonstone. To meet the famous Daenerys Targaryen." she said quietly not taking her eyes of the fire. "How?". "I read all the scrolls that enter this castle. The one from the training Maester at the Citadel said something about making weapons from Dragonglass". "Yes, Sansa, we need to make weapons to protect the North. It matters more than making careful moves in this game you play in your head. Come with me". She stood up moving to the window. "I will never leave Winterfell again". There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, it was said. He was King in the North but she was the Lady of WInterfell and he must protect both her and the North.

Jon snapped out of the memory and looked back towards the castle. He could just make out her red hair against the white walls. Kissed my fire, enclosed by ice.


	9. The Pack Comes Home

"Lady Stark, there's someone in the yard. You should..." She stood up and ran outside, down the stairs. A group had gathered, some of the women who had worked in Winterfell all there lives looked at her with tears in their eyes. A cart sat in the middle of the courtyard. A girl in furs with messy hair looked at her inquisitively. Sansa strode around the cart. Bran.

Bran. Her little brother who loved climbing who wanted to be a knight. She had heard about what happened, but in her mind he hadn't changed. He was still a boy, he could still walk. Now he was a three eyed raven. He could see anything that had ever happened. He had seen her wedding, he knew. He wasn't Bran, not really. Not the sweet boy who had promised when she married a lord he would watch over and guard her always.Perhaps that's what he was trying to tell her, that he was watching her. That they were no longer children and no one could protect her.

She found the girl who had brought him back home. Meera Reed, the daughter of Howland a bannerman who had fought with her father during Robert's Rebellion. She stood awkwardly a few metres from the weirwood tree. "Lady Stark." "You may call me Sansa, thank you for bringing my brother home. You are welcome at Winterfell. I can take you to the kitchens for a meal and if you would like a change of clothes let me know. I will have a room set up for you. I am indebted to you for taking care of my brother". The girl, murmered her thank yous. She did not indicate she wanted anything from Sansa and she walked back to the castle grief waying heavy on her shoulders.

She curled up on her bed and cried. Something deep within had broken, she cried for everything they had lost. A father, a mother, a childhood, any innocent happiness. She soon ran out of tears and lay silently watching the sun set out her window. There was a knock at the door. "Lady Sansa," the voice drawled. Littlefinger. She stepped outside of her room. He moved his hand to her face it took a great degree of control to not flinch against it. "You've been crying. No doubt the return of a crippled brother brings back sad memories". "Yes," she replied quickly. "What do you want?" "I merely wished to inform you of my return. With the King gone and no signs of returning and new family members coming to claim their stake the Vale thought it best to have a contingent in the castle". "You thought. Lord Baelish. You control the Vale, no need to use your spin with me". "Ah, I have taught you well my Lady." He said smugly. "I will leave you now, We will meet soon to discuss.... the new situation". "My brother has returned Lord Baelish. He is no threat. You will not manoeuvre against him in my name". "Yes, your brother, the true-born male heir to Winterfell while the King treats with a foreign Targeryen". 

"Lady Stark. There is some low born Wintertown girl. We don't mean to bother you but she claims to be your sister" Ayra. "Where is she?" "Well she was outside the wall, an' we came to bring 'er to you. But she ran off" "I know where she is".


End file.
